Maybe You’re Just Not Good Enough

Sometimes when I hear fellow artists gripe about not getting their due, being underrated, or feeling wronged by the unfair industry as a whole, my first thought is: Well, maybe you’re just not good enough. It’s harsh, I know. And it cuts right to the core of something most of us fear—myself included. But before you get too riled up, let me explain: this isn’t about tearing someone down. It’s about challenging them to confront a hard truth and grow from it. It’s about reframing what “good enough” really means and turning it into a call to action.

Because here’s the truth: “good enough” isn’t some universal standard. It’s deeply personal. It’s not about being as good as someone else—it’s about being good enough to succeed with what you have to offer. And maybe, just maybe, that means you’re not there yet. And that’s okay. This way of thinking has gotten me over numerous musical and emotional hurdles.

It’s easy to look at someone else’s success and think, “Why not me?” But the reality is, their strengths aren’t your strengths, and their circumstances aren’t your circumstances. In other words, “you’re not them.”

The person with traditional good looks might attract attention effortlessly. The naturally charismatic person might walk into a room and instantly command the crowd. The flashy performer might turn heads and bring down the house like it’s just another day at the office.

But what if you’re not any of those things? What if you’re the one who has to try harder? Does that mean you’re not good enough? Not at all. It just means you need to figure out how to work with what you have, not what someone else has.

I consider myself a very shy person, with the charisma of a pair of socks, who will never be the life of the party. However, I am a very good listener and inquisitive conversationalist. If you sit next to me on a plane, I’ll know your whole life story by the time we land. Or if you share something with me at a party or after a gig, I’ll probably mention it the next time I see you. Even if it’s not until three years later.

These kinds of things enable me to build much deeper connections than the loud guy wearing the lampshade constantly bragging about his accomplishments. Similarly, the subtle artist with modest technique and a left-of-center vision may not dazzle immediately, but they can create work with layers of depth and meaning that resonate long after the musical moment has passed.

When you have to try harder, you learn things others might never bother to understand. You discover how to adapt, how to innovate, and how to lean into your own strengths. Effort doesn’t make you less capable—it makes you more resourceful.

Of all the tenor saxophonists who were associated with the Young Lions period of the 1990s, today, my playing sounds the most radically different. Some may not agree, but I was probably the least skilled of all of those players. So, as a consequence, I had to devise a different plan of creative action. Otherwise, I felt I’d just spend eternity playing catch up.

Switching to the soprano saxophone, even though I suddenly found myself extremely limited—technically, sonically, musically—I felt liberated not having to be in a race, of which I was the slowest runner. I not only had to think outside the box, I had to build my own box.

Which brings me back to my original point: being “good enough” doesn’t mean meeting someone else’s standard. It means reaching a level where you can succeed in your own way, with your own tools. It means building your own box.

If you’re less outgoing, you might need to be more deliberate about forming more personal, musical, and business relationships. If you don’t have that kind of flash that makes the industry beat down your door, you might have to form your own network of gigs, players, and audiences—a world where your unique qualities are valued. One thing the internet has taught us is that there’s room for everybody.

The key is to stop chasing someone else’s career path and start forging your own.

Maybe you’re just not good enough yet. Or better yet, maybe you are good enough but haven’t figured out how to leverage your strengths. Either way, that’s not the end of the story—it’s the beginning. Being “good enough” isn’t about fitting into someone else’s mold. It’s about shaping your path in a way that makes your strengths shine. Success isn’t one-size-fits-all. It’s about making your own way with what you’ve got.

“Maybe you’re just not good enough” isn’t a judgment; it’s a challenge. It’s a reminder that your journey isn’t about being like someone else. It’s about becoming the version of you that’s capable of thriving, no matter where you start. Because in the end, “good enough” isn’t about them. It’s about you.

Imagination Unbound: The Case for Playing Experimental Music

 

(Image by Peter Gannushkin)

Some musicians hold the belief that those who exclusively play experimental music either lack the discipline to fully master their craft or rely on abstract soundscapes to mask their limitations. In other words, they can't "really play." According to this perspective, being able to "really play" is defined by being able to improvise over moderate to advanced harmonic structures in sync with a moderate to advanced rhythmic backdrop—a demanding skill set that I continue to refine in my own practice. 

Even if they don’t say it outright, the implication is clear. I share this, not to stir up controversy, but to set the stage for a broader discussion. Before I explain why I disagree with these assertions and why I personally focus on experimental concepts, let me first introduce an intriguing study that illuminates the nature of creativity: the NASA imagination test.

Developed by Dr. George Land and Beth Jarman, the test was designed to measure the creative potential of NASA's rocket scientists and engineers, identifying those with the most innovative thinking--maybe even the future game changers. The test was highly effective. Curious about its broader implications, Land and Jarman extended the study to children, testing 1,600 kids between the ages of four and five.

The results were astonishing: Ninety eight percent of the children scored in the genius category of being able to come up with innovative ideas or solutions to problems. 

 

But what followed was even more surprising. When the same children were tested five years later, at age ten, only 30% still scored as creative geniuses—a 68% drop. By age fifteen, the number plummeted to 12%. Among adults over 31, only 2% remained in the genius category.

These are pretty surprising numbers. But does this mean we’re getting less intelligent as we get older? Not at all. By conventional standards, a fifteen-year-old knows far more math and language than a five-year-old. But as the study proves, while we grow in skills and knowledge, we lose much of our imagination—a loss often attributed to education systems that prioritize correct answers over creative exploration.

This brings us to two key ways we learn:

• Divergent thinking taps into imagination, allowing us to explore new possibilities and uncharted paths.
• Convergent thinking emphasizes judgment, critique, and arriving at a single correct answer—skills vital for acing exams but often stifling creativity.

So, why do I gravitate toward experimental music?

You might say that I’m striving to reconnect with the imaginative genius I likely possessed as a five-year-old. And the only way to do this is to undo the regressive effects of an educational system that valued correctness over creativity. As a budding young player, I definitely learned that there was a correct and incorrect way to play jazz. Two and four, or hit the door! While I admittedly left Berklee College of Music with a better sound, more instrumental technique, and a more vast knowledge of the language of jazz. I was probably more imaginative in high school—before years of convergent thinking dulled that instinct. In fact, the biggest critique that people had of my playing was that I needed to loosen up. Nowadays, they probably think that I need to play by the rules a little more.

Several years ago, I recall touring the West Coast with drummer Leon Parker and giving a clinic at a college along the way. Leon made it known that he was unimpressed with the older students who performed for us, but when a 12-year-old stepped up, despite his limited skills and knowledge, Leon was captivated. What stood out was the kid's imagination. His ability to take the music to unexpected places—something missing in the more skilled but rigid older students.

This phenomenon is common. Many music students, like myself, leave college more skilled but less creative than they were in high school and probably junior high. They’ve been groomed to "play it right," with creativity often taking a backseat to technical proficiency. This is why many young jazz stars play in linear, predictable ways—they’ve been trained to reach a musical destination rather than to explore the journey. Sadly, many don't seem to break out of this, even as they become older and more experienced.

I do understand the importance of discipline, technique, and knowledge. But only focusing on these things, keeps us in the weeds. To arrive at new and unexplored creative outcomes we need to see a much broader creative terrain.

When teaching my music appreciation class at LIU-Brooklyn,  I use an improvisation exercise where students collectively create a story on the spot. The rules are simple:

1. Connect each statement to the one before it.
2. Keep it brief.
3. Don’t overthink.

College students, ages 18–21, often struggle with this. They hesitate, saying things like:

• "I don’t know what to say."
• "Nothing’s coming to me."
• "This is too hard."

By contrast, younger children I've tried this with, excel at this activity. They’re spontaneous, silly, and unafraid, focusing on fun and imagination. This aligns perfectly with Land and Jarman’s findings.

Similarly, experimental music appeals to me because it fosters this kind of divergent thinking, keeping my creativity alive and my spirit youthful. I feel as inspired today as I did in high school--a stark contrast to many of my peers who struggle to keep music fresh after decades of treading the same paths. I guess when you know how a movie is going to end, how many times can you watch it and still get excited.  For me, experimental music isn’t about sounding "correct" but about being free—spreading sonic hope and reminding us that possibilities are endless. It’s like gazing at the sky instead of the ground: one inspires boundlessness, the other containment.

As Picasso famously said, "It took me four years to learn to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child." Like Picasso, I’m simply trying to return to that five-year-old version of myself who was bursting with creative genius.

And to further illustrate my point, here's a fun clip from a performance with Brandon Lopez on bass and Nick Neuburg on drums. We're definitely channeling our inner five-year-old!

From Swing to Swipe: Was Jazz the Social Media of Its Time?

Imagine a smoke-filled jazz club in 1940s Harlem. Musicians trade improvised riffs as writers, painters, and even gangsters mingle in the crowd. It’s not just music—it’s a gathering place, a cultural hub where ideas are exchanged and the status quo is challenged. In many ways, these jazz clubs were the hashtags of their time.

Today, we think of social media platforms like Facebook, TikTok, and Instagram as spaces for sharing ideas, engaging in discourse, or simply passing the time. Despite their flaws, they offer something essential: a sense of community—a virtual gathering place for people with shared values. In this way, they echo the role jazz played in American culture when it first emerged.

Beyond the genius musicians and swinging melodies, jazz thrived on the fringes of American entertainment, attracting those seeking something different—especially with the advent of bebop and free jazz. Much like how today’s audiences turn to charismatic YouTubers instead of mainstream anchors like Rachel Maddow or Anderson Cooper, jazz created a network for people dissatisfied with the status quo. It became a social hub for the intelligentsia of its time—a space for writers, philosophers, and marginalized voices to connect. For many, jazz was more than entertainment; it was a source of hope and innovation.

Let’s explore how jazz and social media overlap:

Community and Connectivity

Jazz brought together diverse groups of people in clubs and venues, creating a sense of belonging among musicians, artists, and fans. When mainstream venues shut their doors at night, jazz clubs were just warming up—often staying open until dawn. These spaces offered more than music; they were sanctuaries for cultural outsiders. And insiders, looking to flirt with the outside.

Similarly, social media creates virtual spaces where people with shared interests can connect, regardless of geography or time zones. Personally, I’ve met countless like-minded musicians and listeners through Instagram and Facebook. Hashtags streamline the process of finding your tribe, much like a Minton’s Playhouse jam session once did.

Expression and Innovation

Improvisation is the lifeblood of jazz. It demanded self-expression and pushed artistic boundaries. While much of society nudged people toward conformity, jazz compelled its community to break the mold. Charlie Parker’s groundbreaking solos or Ornette Coleman’s experiments with sound and form are testaments to this.

Social media, too, allows for self-expression and creativity on a global scale. Content creators use platforms to showcase individuality without the gatekeeping of mainstream systems. Whether it’s a viral dance on TikTok or an Instagram artist reshaping visual culture, social media fosters the same spirit of boundary-pushing innovation.

Challenging the Status Quo

Jazz didn’t just entertain; it defied norms. During the Harlem Renaissance, it became a voice for marginalized communities, offering a counter-narrative to mainstream culture. By the 1960s, musicians like John Coltrane and Charles Mingus used their music to directly address racism and social injustice. Coltrane’s “Alabama” and Mingus’s “Fables of Faubus” remain powerful social commentaries to this day.

Social media similarly gives underserved individuals a platform, challenging traditional media. Voices that would otherwise go unheard now dispute legacy power structures. For example, independent podcasters like Joe Rogan often draw larger audiences than mainstream networks like CNN or ABC, echoing how jazz once pulled audiences away from the rigidity of classical music.

From Fringe to Mainstream

Jazz began as an underground genre, resonating with cultural outsiders before evolving into a global phenomenon. By the mid-20th century, it became an ambassador of democracy, embraced worldwide as a symbol of freedom and individuality. Its rise wasn’t without resistance—jazz was banned in Nazi Germany, even as it became a propaganda tool for American ideals during WWII.

Social media has undergone a similar trajectory. Initially dismissed as a niche pastime, it is now a dominant force in communication and culture, shaping everything from political discourse to global trends. Many politicians have even challenged the First Amendment in efforts to curb influencers’ control over hot-button topics in American discourse. Elon Musk’s purchase of Twitter (now X) is a direct result of these tensions, framed as a bid to preserve free speech.

Cultural Influence

Jazz shaped fashion, language, art, and social dynamics—sometimes controversially. Musicians defined what was “hip” both on and off the bandstand. Think of Lester Young’s porkpie hat or Dizzy Gillespie’s beret—symbols of individuality that inspired generations.

Social media wields similar power, driving global trends and defining modern aesthetics in real time. Influencers shape what we wear, what we eat, and even how we talk. Brands now rely on these digital trendsetters, just as 20th-century fashion looked to jazz icons for inspiration.

Collaboration and Interaction

Jazz thrived on collaboration. Jam sessions often sparked innovations that redefined the genre. Think of Coleman Hawkins and Lester Young engaging in “friendly battles” on the bandstand, pushing each other to new heights and, in the process, elevating the art form.

Social media fosters a digital version of this collaborative spirit. Comments, likes, and shared content create a dynamic exchange of ideas. While it may not replicate a Hawkins-Young showdown, the spirit of interaction and mutual inspiration persists.

Criticism and Controversy

Jazz faced harsh criticism in its early days. It was dismissed as rebellious, immoral, and even dangerous. Yet these critiques often reflected fear of its liberating potential and its association with marginalized communities.

Social media, too, is under constant scrutiny—for spreading misinformation, fostering polarization, and promoting superficiality. Like jazz, its moral compass is debated, but its transformative impact is undeniable.

Conclusion: A Universal Desire

Both jazz and social media reflect humanity’s shared desire for connection, self-expression, and the courage to challenge societal norms. While their differences are undeniable, their parallels remain striking. Like a late-night jam session or a trending hashtag, both have created new ways for people to connect, innovate, and challenge the world around them.

So, could social media be the jazz of our time? One thing is certain: both remind us of a universal truth—we all want to be heard.